“But I must get away,” thought Sharp Eyes. “If I stay in this trap much longer the hunter will come and get me. Or his dogs will come and bite me! Oh, I must get loose!”
So he pulled and tugged away to get out of the trap, but his foot hurt him more and more and he had to stop.
Sharp Eyes was in such pain, and so troubled about what might happen to him, that he did not even feel like eating some of the chicken, though he had been hungry a little while before. Now his appetite was all gone.
The little fox did not know what to do. He called again for his father and his mother, and for Twinkle and Winkle, but none of them came. Then, all at once, there was a noise in the bushes, and something seemed to be coming toward Sharp Eyes where he was caught fast in the trap.
“Oh, I hope it’s my father or mother!” thought the fox.
But it was not. Instead, a big dog, who was kind-looking, and not fierce and angry, burst through the bushes.
“Oh dear!” thought Sharp Eyes. “This is the hunter’s dog! Now I am surely lost. They’ll take my silver fur. Oh, if I had only kept out of the trap!”
